


Sea Salt

by slaughtermom



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I can't believe there's a wasteland of content about these two, Slow Burn, so I'm going to fill it myself damnit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 08:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slaughtermom/pseuds/slaughtermom
Summary: Loghain fresh from the heartbreak of Maric and Rowan's wedding, reluctantly settles into his responsibilities in Gwaren,





	Sea Salt

Gwaren was a memory. Loghain looked at the crumbling main house and instead of stone he saw echoes. Long war room meetings with Arl Rendorn and Row- the Queen. Endless drills for his Night Elves. The time he tried to leave, to run back to the Wilds. Maric and the Rebellion be damned.

He hadn’t. Perhaps he should have, but the newly and reluctant Teryn Mac Tir knew better than most that the past was the past. He could no more change it than know the future.

Carefully he led his horse to the stables, and put it up in the only stall that didn’t look as if a swift breeze would knock it over. Grain in his packs gave the beast a good dinner while he debated if his tent or the moldy hay was a better bet for sleep. The tent won out when the hay moved slightly. A healthy fear of snakes hunting mice in the pile keeping him away from it.

His tent was a sturdy thing. Loghain wouldn’t have kept less. Too many years in the rough had taught the need for good oil slicked canvas pulled taunt to keep rain from gathering and leaking through. He’d built it and thought back to the time during the Rebellion when an overnight snowstorm had collapsed nearly every tent in the camp. The troops had drank beef tea for a week after trying to knock back the chill from it.

He slept terribly the first night. And the night after. And the night after that. Her thoughts were churning things, bad memories and good colliding until even the worst of the fighting was preferable to thoughts of when the Rebellion was over and he became a commander without an army. What had Maric been thinking making him Teryn? He was a peasant, knew less than nothing about keeping peace.

Maker his father would be ashamed to see him now. Hiding in a tent near a crumbling Keep, without even walking among the province he was supposed to be over.

Celia squinted slightly to keep her hands in focus as she moved her carving blade. The credenza was a fancy piece, a commission for Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. Evidently a gift for his new bride. She didn’t care about that, so much as she pitied the soul who had to dust the thing. Intricate roses were pretty enough, but caught dust like shoes outside.

Still it was a good paying job, one they needed when thoughts of taxes loomed over the town. The new Teryn was the Hero of River Dane. Which was all well and good, but no one had seen him since he arrived. The man had ridden through town and recused himself to the Keep. It was maddening. Was he a tyrant? A milksop?

Put out at the uncertainty of the future, she was nearly ready to take up the offer to be the village spokesperson and see what the Teryn Mac Tir was all about.

Loghain’s first thought at the woman in front of him was that she smelled. Not bad. But a woodsy scent, cedar if he had to hazard a guess. It permeated the air around her and he wondered quite absently if it was a perfume. He doubted it. This was no noble woman. Her dress was homespun and her face freckled as if she spent a lot of time outdoors.

She was also waving her finger in his face despite only coming up to his shoulder. She’d point to the crumbling Keep and then back to him, before completing the circuit with a stab of her thumb to the tent he’d set up. His eyes narrowed at her blackened thumbnail. Had she hurt herself? Fool woman waved her arms so much, she might have smacked the wall with her hand.

And now she was poking him. A firm jab to his belly with that same thumb.

“Excuse you” he replied roughly.

Celia stomped her foot and changed from her thumb to the palm of her hand to hit prod him again. “I said you’re shameful. Look at this place! You are our Teryn and you’re living in a tent for Andraste’s sake. Are you mad or simply lazy?”

“You poke me again I’m going to put you over my knee.” He said back, chafing at the lazy comment. Loghain was not lazy and damned if this short loud mouthed … woman was going to say he was.

“It’s just a building, Maker forsaken place can fall into the ocea-“

The slap was unexpected. As were the calluses he felt when her small but sturdy hand made an imprint on his cheek. There was silence as his face reddened and eyes narrowed into slits at her.

“This is our home Teryn Loghain! You’ll not insult like that.”

Strategy was his forte. He’d won battles with a tenth of the men Meghren had had. He’d maneuvered battles to his advantage using nothing more than wits and sheer bloody will. And he completely and utterly gave up in the face of this tiny angry blonde.

His hand closed around her wrist, jerking her with him as he took off towards the crumbling keep, ignoring the pulls she made and the fingers trying to pinch his hand through thick gloves. Grim faced Loghain all but kicked the door and led her to what had been the kitchen when he was in residence last.

Finding what he wanted, his free hand grabbed the large key ring for the place. Letting go of her and stepping back, Loghain thrust the metal out to her.

“Take care of it. If the place is so bloody important to you, put it back the way it should be.”

Celia rubbed her wrist. She’d been too angry to be scared when he broke down the door, but standing here in this dilapidated place and seeing the full of extent of what neglect did, her stomach trembled with nerves. This was no cabinet. She couldn’t take it to her workshop and bring it back good as new.

Her gaze flicked up to his face and the slight smirk around Loghain’s mouth had nerves pushed aside by a righteous tide of anger. He expected her to turn tail and run. Bastard. As if she’d give him the satisfaction. She took the keys and tucked them into her skirt pocket.

“Alright Teryn Mac Tir. I’ll fix your Keep and you will start taking care of Gwaren instead of hiding like an ill-tempered child. Do we have an understanding?”

Maker save him from hardheaded women.

“I understand my Lady.” Pain in my ass.


End file.
